


oh, the full moon can't afford the pull that's coming from the likes of you

by tinyinkstainedbird



Category: Big Brother RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2177496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyinkstainedbird/pseuds/tinyinkstainedbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>wherein frankie is the moon and zach is an ocean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh, the full moon can't afford the pull that's coming from the likes of you

**Author's Note:**

> i took creative liberties with frankie's romantic history. i don't actually know if he's a heartbreaker or not; i just know he's breaking mine by breaking zach's, and this is a result of that. 
> 
> also the last time i wrote big brother fic was when in season 3, so i don't really know what the fuck i'm doing?

Frankie breaks hearts.

He’s not sorry anymore. It’s either break or be broken, and his colours are beautiful as they burn the fingers of anyone who tries to consume him.

So he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing with Zach, besides keeping him warm and telling him lies. Zach’s too scared to consume anything, but here he is with his arms around him in his bed anyway.

“I want to talk about what’s going to happen after we get out of here,” Frankie says.

“Well fuck you, I want to talk about how in love with you I am.”

“Well, fuck you, I was hoping that was the same thing.”

Zach’s eyes crinkle in the corners as he grins and props himself up on his elbow and searches Frankie’s face. “Yeah?”

“Duh.”

Zach is an overgrown kid who laughs with his whole body and smiles like he’s happy from head to toe. And when Frankie says something sweet, Zach falls for it hook, line and sinker. Every single time.

Which is fine. Because Frankie means it. With Zach, he always means it.

But he’s given boys lines before. He knows how to get what he wants; he knows when to be lovely and when to be vulnerable and when to be strong. He knows that when he fights he looks like he’s in love. There’s a long line of broken-hearted boys in New York who know just how good Frankie is at winning.

But Zach?

Zach doesn’t know who he is and sometimes Frankie wonders if that’s why he’s so happy. He’s just a baby, a puppy playing, innocent and boundless and vibrant and so easily amazed. Happy to entertain, happy to be entertained. He’s joyful and unsuspecting, and Frankie loves him.

Frankie loves him, but it sinks his heart to say good things to him. He doesn’t want to hurt him but he might. Fuck the boys he’s broken; they knew what they were in for. Zach doesn’t. Zach’s brand new and falling in love with fireworks, too naive to know it’s just powder and lights.

Frankie looks at Zach and he wants to talk forever. He wants to give him the funny, sweet lines he’d give any boy; he wants to whisper in his ear and make him laugh and tickle his neck with kisses and promises of forever wrapped up in silly metaphors like _hey babe you and me could be july fourth every night_ , but he knows the only words Zach would hear would be you and me.

And it’s not that Frankie doesn’t want to be fireworks. It’s not that he doesn’t want Zach looking up at him like he’s magic. Frankie wants that. He wants a summer that never ends, and he wants his forever-summer to be full of Florida oranges and stupid pink hats and lazy days and the sweetest loud-mouth holy terror he’s ever met.

He just doesn’t know what will happen when they get out of this house. He doesn’t know if Zach can handle it. He doesn’t know if Zach’s ready to face who he is, to sit through interview after interview and admit it, to tell his family and his friends and his idiot frat brothers he really does love this man, and he’s just so honest and open and terrible at guarding his heart that Frankie is scared to death of what will happen if anyone in the real world tells Zach he should be ashamed. Because they will.

He looks down at their hands. Their fingers are intertwined like they always are. Is there a difference between holding hands in bed on television for millions of strangers to see and holding hands while walking down the street where they might run into someone they know? If there is, Frankie doesn’t see it.

“Remember when you came into this house,” Frankie says, fingers tracing sloppy hearts over Zach’s bare chest. “You were so sure you didn’t need anyone.”

“I didn’t,” Zach replies, smiling and moon-eyed. “Because I didn’t know about you yet.”

Frankie rolls his eyes and grins. “You were like _I’m Zach, I hate everyone, the only thing I like is snuggles, everything else is the worst._ ”

“Still mostly true, to be quite honest.”

Frankie bats his eyelashes and flops onto Zach, throwing an arm and leg over his body like a little koala bear, and pulls him closer. “Because now you love meee.”

“Dude. I’m, like, too in love.”

“Hmm.” Frankie bows his head, resting his forehead in the crook of Zach’s neck. “Okay.” He gently eases Zach down onto his back, and then sits up. He wants Zach to look up at him. “Hey Zach.”

“Hey Frankie.”

“You know there’s a difference between love and in love, right?”

Zach tucks a hand under his head and smiles up at him. “I guess.”

“Okay. Then what’s the difference?”

Zach’s smile falters but he tries to save it. “Come on, Frankie.”

“I’m just saying.” Frankie shrugs. “Don’t say things you can’t mean.”

“I didn’t,” he laughs.

“Right, but you can’t say you’re in love with me and then follow it up with _‘if I were gay.’”_

“I didn’t. I don’t have to be gay to be in love with you,” Zach says. “I just won’t fuck you.”

“So,” Frankie says. “After this is all over, you’re gonna go home and fuck sorority girls while you’re, like, too in love with me.”

“Frankie,” Zach giggles.

Frankie doesn’t crack a smile. This is what Zach always goddamn does. He goddamn giggles. When he gets nervous or uncomfortable or turned on, he ducks his head and giggles Frankie’s name. He’s such a little kid Frankie almost can’t stand it.

“Could we talk about this if the cameras weren’t around?” Frankie asks quietly.

Zach pushes Frankie down, drapes an arm over his body and rests his chin on his chest, looking up at him with panic carefully disguised as delight. He digs his chin into Frankie’s chest: it’s not quite a nod but it’s how he says yes.

“Then we will,” Frankie whispers.

“Anyway,” Zach says, too loud, too bright, too obvious. “My little broski is gonna die when he meets your sister.”

Frankie decides to play along and he doesn’t know why because it’s cruel. “Maybe we can go on double dates.”

_“Totally.”_

His fucking heart is aching. He’s not one for hating himself, but looking at this kid with his big brown eyes and his smile as cute and off-centre as his backwards hat, he comes close. Those boys in New York will go on to find someone else. Zach won’t.

So Frankie takes the blanket and whips it over their heads, tickling Zach when he tries to fight it.

“Frankie!” Zach giggles. “What are you doing?”

“Welcome to my lair!” Frankie cackles back.

“Oh my God, I’ll fart.”

“Oh my God, are you claustrophobic? Why didn’t I know this about you?”

“I’m _not_ ,” Zach insists, giggling and kicking as Frankie kisses his neck. “I just don’t like tight spaces.”

“Zachary Rance, do you deliberately set me up for anal sex jokes?”

Zach nuzzles his cheek against Frankie’s, his arms wrapped around his waist in a way that always feels like victory to Frankie. “There’s nothing funny about anal sex,” he giggles.

“Especially how much I _want it,_ ughhhh,” Frankie groans. “Can we bang now?”

 _“Frankie,_ ” Zach snickers, wriggling around but not trying to escape. “If I say yes, will you let me fucking breathe again?”

“Nope,” Frankie says. “You said we could talk if there weren’t any cameras around. I don’t see any cameras in here.”

“We still have _microphones_.”

“And _whispering voices.”_

“Everyone watching the live feeds is going to think we’re boning in here.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you really mean that?” Frankie asks.

Zach tilts his head and laughs, wondering and confused. “I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I’m not embarrassed to be with you.”

“I love you,” Frankie whispers, and tries not to let it sound like he’s breaking bad news.

“I love you more,” Zach whispers back, and doesn’t give a fuck how it sounds.

“When you said you’ll love me no matter what happens in this game, did you mean that too?”

“Yeah, why?” Zach asks. “You got something sneaky up your sleeve?”

“Always,” Frankie says, and that sounds more like _I love you_ than the real thing. “Would you ever put me up?”

“Fuck no.”

Frankie tries not to let Zach see him wince. He believes him. And what’s worse is that he doesn’t even know enough to ask him the same question.

 _then he shouldn’t be playing this game,_ he thinks before he can stop himself, and swallows down memories of all the boys he’s blamed for falling victim to him. Is Zach any different, really?

No. This is the big leagues. There’s no place for innocence. It’s not Frankie’s fault that no one’s ever taught Zach how to be ruthless.

“What if I put you up?” Frankie whispers.

Zach snaps a look at him, his hair standing up like duck fuzz, stuck to the blanket with static electricity. “Why would you do that?

“Because we’re playing a game,” Frankie tells him gently. “And I want to win. Just the same as I did before I met you. Just the same as you did before you met me.”

Zach bites his thumbnail. It’s ragged. His mom made him bring shit to put on his fingernails so he won’t bite them but he always forgets. Sometimes Frankie reminds him; sometimes he just lets him bite away. “So what’s your question?” Zach asks. “Will I still like you if you try to get me out?”

“That’s my question.”

“But I’m not going to win,” Zach says. “Why would you put me up if you know you could beat me in the end? What’s the point?”

Frankie doesn’t argue. In the very unlikely scenario that they make it to the final two together, he knows he’d slaughter Zach. It would be unanimous. Zach’s pissed off too many people and ridden too many coattails. His hands are too bloody. So are Frankie’s, but he makes it look like art. Zach could never win.

So why is he listening to the whispers of the others who tell him to stab the kid in the back? A kid who’s playing his heart out even though he knows he can’t win?

“I’m just saying hypothetically,” Frankie tells him. “Could we get past that? If I did something shitty in here, could you still love me out there?”

“Of course, dude, I just don’t know why you would.”

“Me neither.”

“Well, then don’t.”

Frankie’s eyes are brightest in the dark. He smiles happily, knowing Zach will smile back, which he does, so Frankie cuddles into him, crawling on top and pressing lips to his neck. There’s something about the way Zach tells him to stop while simultaneously pulling him closer that knocks him the fuck out. He knows Zach can feel him getting hard, and they both giggle about it, and Frankie kisses his way down Zach’s chest until he can feel him getting hard too, and then they’re just a bundle of laughter wrapped up in a blanket for all the world to see.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Zach whispers as Frankie slips a hand down his shorts and nips at his earlobe. “Frankie, no.”

It’s hard to take seriously when it comes out in a giggle, and Frankie knows that’s the wrong way to think, that it’s awful and shitty, but he just wants Zach to tell him yes or tell him no and say it with a goddamn straight face. Because yes, Frankie’s going to break this kid’s heart this week, he’s going to break it worse than any heart he’s ever fucked up, but Frankie fucking loves him too. He just wants to know if it’s real. If it’s worth it.

“When?” Frankie whispers back.

Zach grins. He barely makes a sound as he mouths, “When we make it to final two.”

“Really?”

“They’ll have to burn the fucking house down when we’re done with it.”

“Ughhhhh,” Frankie moans, theatrical and dramatic but dead serious. “Where should we start?”

“Pool table,” Zach whispers, certain, like he’s thought about this before.

“Fuck yes,” Frankie whispers back. “Then where?”

“Living room.”

“And then?”

“Up against the door in the pantry.”

“Fucking Christ,” Frankie hisses.

“Then the shower.”

“Mm. Dirty.”

“And then here.”

“Right here?”

“Right here.”

“You bastard. I will not be held responsible for the state of my boner right now.”

“It’s certainly burgeoning.”

“Don’t use big words; they turn me on even more,” Frankie scolds. “Anything three syllables and over is off-limits.”

“Loquacious.”

“Ugh.”

“Libidinous.”

“Stop.”

“Lascivious. Animalistic. Penetration.”

“You’re a villain.”

_“Flibbertigibbet.”_

“Well, now you’ve gone too far.”

Zach sucks in a deep breath, bursting at the seams with all the smiles and giggles he’s holding in, turns his head so his lips brush Frankie’s ear, and whispers, “Supercalifragilisticexpiala--”

“Oh God, anything but that,” Frankie gasps.

_“--docious.”_

“I just came.”

“Better start working on your stamina,” Zach giggles. “Lucky for you we have a whole month before it’s just us.”

Frankie smiles, glad that it’s too dark under here for Zach to see how sad it is. Flirting with him is just making it worse. Why is Frankie risking him? Not that he’s risking a vote for him to win in the end -- he knows Zach will be loyal no matter how gutted he is. It’s so much more than that and he knows it.

Is he risking him because he doesn’t know if he really means it when he says he’s in love with him? Because if they really did make it to final two together, Frankie knows Zach wouldn’t actually fuck him on the pool table and up against the pantry door? Is his betrayal more punishment than strategy? Is he that fucking awful? Zach wouldn’t give him his heart so he’s going to stab him in the fucking back?  

But he _did_ give him his fucking heart. Every fucking day. Zach’s heart is splattered all over the walls of this house. His heart is in every stupid smile and jagged fingernail and nervous laugh. His heart is scared, but it’s brave, and what if Frankie is the one to make it ruthless?

What if Frankie’s just hurting him because he’d fucking die if Zach broke his heart first?

“Hey,” Zach whispers. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Frankie laughs.

Zach grins. “Are you scheming...”

“Yes. About how to get in your pants.”

Zach giggles. Of course he does. “Take me to final two.”

Frankie purses his lips, and then smirks, and then places a gentle kiss in Zach’s hair. No, Frankie doesn’t hate himself often. But Zach could make him do it. Zach is good enough, bright enough, true blue enough, that he could destroy Frankie. Keep him around until the end just so he can finally fuck him? So he can hear Zach giggle and say his name and tell him no? Fuck that.

Frankie is fireworks. Frankie is the moon. Frankie lights up the night. He is cold, because his light isn’t real.

But Zach is sweet Florida oranges. Zach is summer all year. Zach is the goddamn ocean and everything in it. He doesn’t know how deep he is. How beautiful he is. How dangerous he is. How he can sail a ship and toss a boy overboard and drown him all at the same time.

He doesn’t know Frankie can only be a reflection on him. He doesn’t know they are not meant to be. He just doesn’t.

“What’s the first thing we should do when we get out of here?” Zach asks.

 _forgive me,_ Frankie thinks, but squeezes him tight instead. “Let’s get your little brother and take him mini golfing.”

“Aww, Frankie, you’re so perfect,” he says, without an ounce of insincerity.

“Yeah,” he laughs, and can’t help the scoff that comes with it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m perfect.”

“You really are, you know,” Zach promises. “You’re literally the smartest, funniest person I’ve ever met in my whole entire life. You’re good at everything. Even just at being around me.”

“What does that mean?”

“Back home, I have friends but not a lot of close ones,” Zach says, in the kind of tone he’d use to describe the weather. “No one’s ever gotten this close to me. No one else can really stand me, I think?”

“That’s not true.”

“I mean, it kind of is,” Zach says. “I know how I am, I know I’m loud and annoying and everyone thinks I’m a dick. You said it yourself, I’m a ticking time bomb. I don’t know why I’m like that but I am. I know I’m one of those good-in-small-doses people.”

“That hurts my heart to even hear you say.”

“It’s okay, though. Because you’re not like everyone else. I can be around you all day without self-destructing. You’re just…” He shrugs. “You’re good at me.”

“I’m good at _you?_ ”

“I know it sounds stupid but that’s how I feel.”

“Wow.” Frankie lets his gaze fall. “It doesn’t sound stupid. Thank you, you little sweetheart.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, it’s like--” Zach chews on his nail for a moment and then clears his throat softly. “Remember how I told you I have ADHD?”

“I do.”

“That’s kind of a big problem for me,” Zach says. “I always did pretty well at school so no one took it that seriously -- like even my mom didn’t believe me when I told her I was having a hard time. I just couldn’t concentrate and I’ve always been an asshole to make up for how fucking frustrating it is to just never be able to focus on anything.”

“Right.”

“You’re the first thing I’ve ever been able to focus on,” Zach tells him. “When you’re in the room, you’re all I’m looking at and listening to and thinking about. And it’s like for the first time in my life, I feel calm.”

“Jesus, Zach. _Jesus,_ Zach.”

“I don’t know what that means. I just know it’s true.”

Frankie’s eyes well with tears. He’s fucking glad. He’s fucking sorry. He’s head over fucking heels. His jaw drops and he shakes his head. His throat hurts. He wants to go home.

 _“Frankie,”_ Zach giggles again, but this time it’s not nervous, it’s just gentle. “What’s wrong?”

Frankie’s not sure if he’s ever held someone so tight before. He puts his head down and presses his nose into his ribs and clings. Maybe he’s hurting him, but Zach doesn’t seem to mind; he just holds him back. “Not a goddamn thing,” he says, his whisper muffled in Zach’s chest. “How does that make you feel?”

“What?”

“Being calm.”

Zach shrugs. “I don’t know, different,” he says.

“Different how?”

“Just different,” he says, pushing at the blanket. “I’m having a hard time breathing in here.”

“Tell me how you feel first, please, Zach.”

“You already said you know how I feel so why do I have to say it?”

“Because I don’t want to put words in your mouth when it’s my fucking heart on the line.”

Zach runs a hand over his face and exhales deeply. “Frankie,” he whispers, barely audible. “I need you to just like respect that I don’t want to talk about this while we’re in here.”

Frankie sighs.

“Don’t do that,” Zach snaps softly, placing a hand on the top of Frankie’s head, and drops his voice even lower. “You came out in your own time in your own way. If you care about me like you say you do, you’ll let me do the same, okay?”

“Okay. Yeah, of course. Yes.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” he says, and stretches languidly, laughing and curling in on himself when Frankie tickles him. He takes this moment to win, to slip his arms out of the blankets and over, dragging them down over his head and Frankie’s head, breathing in cold, clean air. He giggles. “It’s gonna look like you just finished blowing me.”

“But didn’t I,” Frankie says, shooting one of the cameras a vampy look.

“Frankie,” he giggles.

And Frankie can’t take it anymore. It’s too much.

“What else should we do when we get out?” Zach asks. “Harry Potter World? I know you’re super gay for wizards.”

“That sounds great,” Frankie tells him. “I’m gonna go downstairs and bug some people, okay?”

“Okay,” Zach says. “I might go take a shower.”

“Think of me,” Frankie teases.

“Always do,” Zach giggles.

“You go first,” Frankie says.

Zach grins. “Oh my God, are you trying to get me to leave so you can jerk off?”

Frankie smiles back. “You know it, babe,” he says, but thinks _please get out of my bed_.

“I’m getting gayer by the minute,” Zach says, easing out from under Frankie and sliding off the bed. He adjusts his hat and his shorts. “My first thought was why don’t we just do it together.”

“Next stop: butt sex.”

Zach giggles. Then he stops. “When we get out of here, I can trust you, right?”

“What?”

“I know it’s a game in here, but out there you wouldn’t--” Zach shrugs. “I don’t know. Just last week you broke my heart."  
  
"You broke mine too."

"I know. But it wouldn’t be like that out there, would it?”

“No, Zach.”

“Thanks,” he smiles, and heads for the door. “Love you!”

“Love you more,” Frankie calls back, and watches him go, and starts to cry, because he knows this is the last time he’ll watch that back walk out a door without a knife in it.

 


End file.
